


bite down, bite down (into me)

by doctorkaitlyn



Series: tumblr fics & ficlets. [112]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Hunters, Biting, Blood and Gore, Community: rounds_of_kink, Dark Allison, Dark Stiles, F/M, Knifeplay, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-14 16:05:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10539864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/pseuds/doctorkaitlyn
Summary: Allison Argent is the furthest thing from a werewolf.But you wouldn’t know that from how eagerly she sinks her teeth into Stiles’ flesh.





	

**Author's Note:**

> written for day 5 of Shipping With Stiles 2017, where the theme was Law Enforcement Stiles; for the 'hunter au' square on my Teen Wolf Bingo Card; and for the April Fools [rounds_of_kink](http://rounds-of-kink.livejournal.com/) mini round, using the prompts _biting_ and _target._
> 
> (hunters totally count as law enforcement, in their own weird way.)
> 
> please heed the tags! title from [Bite Down](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WL1WuxL2bMc) by Bastille & Haim.

Allison Argent is the furthest thing from a werewolf. 

But you wouldn’t know that from how she eagerly sinks her teeth into Stiles’ flesh. 

He's been marked before, by other lovers; countless others have left dark collars of bruises and hickies around his pale throat, have littered his body with indentations of their teeth, indentations that swelled and leaked trickles of blood. Others have scored their fingernails down his back until he was striped with welts, until it looked like he’d been whipped. He’s always encouraged that behavior, encouraged people to go harder, dig in deeper, until there was blood between their teeth and underneath their nails and coursing down his skin, until it looked like he’d been up against a werewolf and lost. 

Allison is the first person he hasn’t had to encourage. 

From the first day they met, which was both the day of their first hunt and the day they fell together after they found and put down their target (a vicious wendigo whose cellar had been full of half-consumed corpses), Allison has bitten him like an alpha claiming a new member for their pack. 

They don’t fuck when they’re on the job, when they’re focused on tracking down the latest werecreature or kitsune or whatever target they’ve been charged with eliminating. During those times, Allison is brutally efficient, like all her family before her; she sleeps only when she has to, eats only when necessary, tracks as capably as a bloodhound. She barely speaks to Stiles unless it’s directly related to the task at hand, unless she’s yelling at him to watch out or duck. She doesn’t mix business with pleasure; the first (and only) time Stiles had tried to initiate sex while they were on a tedious, mind-numbing stakeout, he’d ended up with a knife to his throat and Allison’s dark, cold eyes boring into his. 

She’d said nothing, but he’d still received the message loud and clear. 

But after their hunt has come to a conclusion, once their target is lying dead at their feet (decapitated or burned to a pile of ashes or cut in half, depending on the quarry), her business manner is tossed away. 

It doesn’t matter where they are, if they’re standing in the middle of the forest or an abandoned warehouse or a pungent cave. It doesn’t matter if they’re injured, if they’re battered and bruised, burned and bloodied. 

Regardless of the circumstances, Allison wastes no time on crashing their lips together. 

The night that they destroy an entire pack together, rip them to shreds and leave the condemned house serving as their lair saturated with blood and gore, is no exception. 

Stiles is bleeding from half a dozen separate areas. Two of the fingers on his left hand are broken, and he’s fairly certain that one of his ribs is bruised, if not cracked. If he was smart, he would call their contacts to clean the place up and head to the nearest doctor as soon as possible. 

But the way Allison looks at him, her dark hair disheveled and streaked with gore, pale face reddened and damp with sweat, eyes ablaze like coals in a fire, tells him that medical attention can, and will, wait. 

He places his gun and knife on the water-stained kitchen counter and turns back just in time to meet Allison’s mouth with his own. She shoves her hands into his short hair and, not for the first time, he’s glad that he decided to grow out the buzzcut he had all through high school. Her mouth is thick with the taste of blood from a split lip, but if the injury causes her any pain, she doesn’t show it. 

Stiles is pretty sure the pain would just spur her on anyways. 

He winds his arms around her back and drops his hands to her ass, yanking her closer, until there’s not an inch of space between them. In response, she nips at his bottom lip before pressing back in, tongue curling against his own. 

They don’t stay that way for long; only moments later, she twists around and hops onto the counter, hooks her legs around his hips and tugs him in closer. It’s an ideal position to fuck her in, even if Stiles doesn’t exactly trust the structural integrity of the counter, but he doesn’t want to go there quite yet, wants to drag things out a little further, so that the time between now and the conclusion of their next hunt doesn’t feel so damn long. 

Allison is wearing thin leggings; they don’t offer much in the way of protection, but they’re easy to move in, and they’re even easier for Stiles to tear open with the merest flick of the knife that he grabs from the counter. She parts her thighs and stares him down, silently urging him on, gaze not wavering until Stiles pushes her underwear out of the way and slides two of his non-broken fingers into her wet heat. 

Right on cue, she leans forward and sinks her teeth into where the meat of his shoulder is peeking through a tear in his shirt. She doesn’t use her tongue or suck the skin between her teeth; she just presses, harder and harder, until Stiles feels his skin split, peel open as easily as her tights had peeled underneath the tip of his blood-streaked blade. 

The groan that falls from his mouth is explosive, and Allison matches it with one of her own when she pulls back, her mouth smeared with his blood, eyes fluttering shut as she rolls her hips down onto his fingers. 

(There’d been a time when Stiles hadn’t been sure if hunting was the career path for him. He’d been training for it most of his life, but there was still a shred of doubt, a thought that maybe there was another way, that maybe he could take another path and keep his hands free from bloodshed. 

But now, as Allison presses a matching bite into his other shoulder and digs her broken nails into his back as she comes around three of his crooked fingers, he can’t imagine any other path than this one.

Nothing else could compare.)

**Author's Note:**

> as always, I can be found on [tumblr.](http://banshee-cheekbones.tumblr.com/) :)


End file.
